Proditione
by Ten Thousand Ravens
Summary: Bard had become victim to Dragon Sickness. Sigrid had long been in a revolution to take him off the throne. But after her mysterious death the role is thrusted to Tilda. It wouldn't be easy, especially not when her alliance was with dwarves.
1. Chapter 1

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* * *

I was asleep in my daydreams and the was enough for me.

Hattie and I were having a tea party in the midst of a winter obscurity. I was not dressed for the occasion in my nightgown with the cuff collar and rosy red robe. Hattie didn't seem to mind save her dress was violet with black lace. She never cared. She was excellent company, my only company. It made me laugh to now her mouth was just a pattern of stitches.

She didn't mind me leaving without a pardon either. I abandoned her as I sprint down the halls, careless to know I was passing the servant's hall and Sigrid's chamber. I was soon to the door and frustrated to find the guards blocking my view.

I pushed them away while growling, "Move."

To defend my behavior I was eight and weary. Despite my nursemaid assigning me to bed hours ago I couldn't. The reason that kept me up, though had just arrived and right in front of me.

I did not give him time to brush the snowflakes out of his hair, avoiding the gold crown shining on his head.

"Da!" I squealed, wrapping my arms around his waist. "I missed you!"

Even with sodden fur from his coat rubbing against my face I feel a pit of warmth awake in me. But it doesn't last.

"What are you doing up?" Father's heads snaps up, his eyes seeking a reason for it. He practically shoved me from his arms as he looked to his guards."Where is the nursemaid?"

"Asleep, your majesty," one replied and my father's expression dimmed.

"Bring her to me," he orders.

Til she they returned my father stared daggers at me as I sank with embarrassment and guilt. I approached after a mental prolong debate with myself. "Da, can I tell you something?" I whispered.

He. looked tempted to nod and had he this situation's conclusion would have been much more brighter.

But the nursemaid's arrival was swift, she was already resting her eyes on me as she stepped in. Her soft expression twisted into an evil glare.

I scorched hot, not just for myself, but for her as well. .No one should have to stand in front of their king in their frayed pajamas with their hair pulled back in a braid, exposing more gray streaks than usual. And their skin bare and dry and dark. There was no dignity for her that night or any night since.

"Your majesty, you summoned me," she said with a low bow, not addressing me.

"Why is she still awake?" His tone was more cooler than usual. There use to be a peace within it, but it was slowly dying.

"I….I don't know, my lord," the nursemaid uttered. Her hands clasped and unclasped and her foot pattered against the stone. I watch with my young eyes as her stability begins to drain. "I assigned her to bed three hours ago, I swear."

Father approached with only a step and the nursemaid cringed and rebounded. His face was a stone and yet I saw a glint of amusement. "You are released of your duties. Go."

I thought she was going to drop to her knees and beg. She pleaded and she wept but nothing more. "Pray….my lord, my king, do not send me away. I will try harder! Pray, there no other job an elderly grammer like myself could have! Oh pray, do not usher me out! I will do anything! I cannot lose this job!"

Being young I thought her words came from loyalty and commitment. I thought she enjoyed her job in the palace. It wasn't though, she hated me and she hated me father, and with his firing her she would lose her reputation and she bring a great deal of shame to her name.

A part of me was glad to be oblivious to that fact that night.

The guards escorted her off as she continued to sob, screeching out absurdities, even insulting my father's name, along with my own.

"You little viper! You little mutant! Curse you! You spoiled wretch!" She is gone within seconds, but words stung for eternity.

It was then Father looked back to me, showing little regard and therefore little sympathy for her words. I didn't deserve sympathy, it was my fault, but he seemed so careless. So cold. I needed any emotion from him to ease me. But he showed nothing. He only said, "Go to bed, Tilda." And I obeyed, shuffling off into the shadow, distressed my everything that had occurred.

I collected Hattie and two other dolls and snuck into my bed, nestling beneath wool sheets.

That night I can recall so easily. Whenever I doubt what I did next, I look back at that night and I feel no more reason to wonder. It was a night of revelation and it was eight more years before the reckoning.

I was sixteen now and distant from Father as much as I was distant from that young girl of innocence. I was entitled and drunk on the assurance I would be given anything if asked for it. And I was still jeopardizing the faith of our servants.

She was the new, fresh - face servant tending to Sigrid who had been bed ridden after falling ill. I had been forbidden to see her by  
Father's instructions. It didn't settle well with me. Sigrid may have been corrupted by greed, but she was my sister and my only source of social relief. I would have turned stir crazy with Father always away and Bain always in the library or in solitude had she not been here.

So as that new maid headway to my sister's chamber, a tray secure against her chest, I stepped in front of her aim.

"Oh, Lady Tilda, how are you today?" she asks with a force politeness and struggles to bow and hold up the tray's balance.

"Fine," I murmured. "I'm just coming from the throne room. My father has allowed to me take the stew my sister….." My arm's reach out for the tray, set to receive it.

She isn't convinced. "Oh? Why, your majesty, your father, said you were forbidden from seeing your sister. Pray, I must follow my orders."

"My father said I could!" I press. My tone is escalating and in fear of drawing attention, I use a quick threat to avoid it. "Do you want me to interrupt his schedule and get us both in trouble?"

She practically throws the tray in my hand, almost staining my dress with the soup. She ran too fast and too far for me to scold her. There was no benefit in it, though, so I go on the track to my sister's room and I burst in to find her still resting in her bed.

Her complexion is pallid and her face is more dead than it ever had been. She was bronzed by sweat. Her skin had sank and her bones were peering out. And her eyes were slits, attempting to open, only to fall.

"Tilda," she whispered. "What are you doing here?"

I set the tray down upon the dresser then sink onto the side of the mattress, my weight releasing a cry from the frame.

"I wanted to see you," I say, wiping away a frizzy brown tressel away from her face.

"You shouldn't be here," she says. "If Father catches you…."

"Father has a full day in the throne room. He won't know."

"It is nice to see you…."

"It's nice to see you too. Da's afraid I'll attract the illness." And yet I risked it without fear just to see her. It was a moment I cherished, one of the few that came from this castle. Our conversation was terse and yet beautiful. WE saved ourselves on the topic of our defiance father and the world crumbling outside the walls that barricade us. We shared memories that lifted our spirits and laughs that were quick to rob Sigrid of her breath. Her coughs were hard and husky and through them she uttered out, "It feels like my insides are shaking."

"Do you need some water?" I ask but she denies the request.

"Do you remember that blonde dwarf, the king under the mountain, little sister?" she inquired while clearing her throat.

It was an odd question. Of course I did, he had taken the throne after his uncle's passing three years ago and whenever he visited he always had an eye on Sigrid. Fili, that was his name. And since Thorin's late years of serving, a strain was put on the alliance between Dale and Erebor that continued today.

"Yes," I reply.

"I use to sneak out when Father was asleep or away and meet him at the mountain's entrance. We would spend nights under the stairs until morning came." She smiled as the memories flood back. "Tilda, I must ask you something. Pray, little sister. In the middle drawer of my dresser there is sealed note. I ask you take it to Erebor and deliver it personally to Fili. Do not let Father or anyone else see it. Do it in a weeks time and no sooner. Do you think you could do that, sister?"

My reply does not change despite being confused. "Yes…..Won't you want to take it to him when you get better?"

"I don't have time. Pray, take it to him….and make sure no one find it."

I had yet found out how conniving her words were.

.


	2. Chapter 2

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Several days had passed.

Each morning I would creep down to the servant's hall,seeking out the most feeble minded ones. Many were. Father did not have the time or the patience to go through lists of applicants wanting to work in the castle. His laziness was an advantage of mine. I scouted out the ones trembling in my presences and approached with inquiries about my Sigrid's conditions. If they resisted I would threaten to call Father from his duties.

"She's...alive."

It was their only answer.

They spoke little of improvement.

It didn't matter. Her survival was enough at the time. I was not yet alone.

So one morning, instead of going down to the hall and interrupting the servants, I stole a book from the shelf and retreated off to solitude. I didn't need assurance for I didn't have doubt. She was alive. And knowing that I could drift off into the words on the pages of my book.

Time withered.

It must have been noon.

I hadn't seen Father yet, but that wasn't odd. What was odd was seeing Bain beneath the doorway, moving forth in mystery. He wore a look of dismay and distress. It had become accustomed to him.

I lift myself to my feet, abandoning my story's adventure for another day and go headway. It was a strive to cross ways with him. We were like strangers ambling in the opposite direction. We could muster a vacant stare, perhaps a quick nod, but nothing more. OUr words would remain unspoken. Not until I reached the way out did I learn that was untrue.

He had a reason for his visit, a reason I didn't want to acknowledge.

No.

His shuffled steps, his bow head, his quivering lips, they meant nothing. Surely he was not….

I glance back at him and soon shifted myself in aim of him.

His eyes meet mine.

I want to cover my ears, believing it would shield me from the truth.

HIs lips move, but I don't recognize his words. My mind won't register them.

I feel myself descend into an oblivion as my vision fades. Opening my eyes I find myself collapsed on my knee, lolling on the stone floor. Its coolness servers through my body. My lips dry, my heart stops and a numbness prospers over me.

This was hardly the proper sight of a lady.

You're never wed if you don't act more like a lady, she would warn.

I'm dreaming, I tell myself.

Don't slouch like that, she said.

I'm dreaming.

I smile.

And I cast my eyes back to him, the words in his expression.

"Sigrid is dead."

* * *

I wept, shamefully not for my sister, but for myself.

I was more alone in life than she was in death.

I had yet seen Father since the news, along with Bain. My only family member, my only source of communication was now being propped on a table to be examined by healers, soon to be dressed in her finest gown and burdened down by jewels and gems and buried beneath the earth. It was deceiving.

Sigrid was not fond of most women's desires. She shook her head when tailors poked and pried at her as they fitted for a dress. And she tossed the jewels Father bestowed upon her out the window.

Watching the elderly maidens powder her face, pin her hair and readjust her dress, I shook my head.

Unlike Father and I, Sigrid was not corrupted by the sudden blessing of riches and power. Not until now did I admire her for it. And I respected her enough to grant her dying wish.

After a brief jaunt to her burial, I returned home, shooing the guards off of me. The castle was barren and dim, modeling the mood of all of us. It gave me a chance to slip off into the shadows building in the corridor and into my sister's chamber. I carried a dread in my steps as I walked headway. The sight of what was behind that door was clear in mind.

A lining of bookshelves would be on the north wall, reaching the golden border before the ceiling. The wood was cracking inside under the weight. She was always pleading for more space. She grew into fumes at the sight of her overstocked shelves. Each book in her possession had a special purpose and if their spines were not looking out to her room, if they were hidden by a stack of books on the edge, an anger took hold of her.

Her bed would in the center, the sheets undone. Across from it would be her dresser, a hair brush resting on top to the side of a candle stick holder. She was simple.

It is ashame those who live pure lives, lives the shortest lives.

My sister was a product of that.

Staring at those cream colored, barren walls, I can't doubt that. I pitied it as well as I came to the dresser, hauling out the top drawer. My hands wrestle through layers of fabrics rubbing against my fingers.

I shake my head.

Middle drawer, middle drawer, I think to myself, following her instructions and my hands went down to the second drawer to the bottom.

And there it is. Resting in the center upon her sheets is a folded letter. There is a golden seal that scorches my eye, turning my head away. And there was Father, looming close, spectating me and every move I made.

He casts any eyes to the letter.


	3. Chapter 3

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* * *

"What is that?" he asked without making an approach.

With the ability to lie far from me, I widened my eyes and let my lips drop into an 'oh'. Playing dumbfound was beneath my dignity but my only chance to escape. I let my posture sink before inching back, with my eyes searching for an excuse to retreat. I didn't know her room well if I knew it at all and father's frame barricaded the door.

"Tilda," he steadily begun. "What's in your hand."

I sighed to retrieve my breath, before I hoisted the letter higher in my clutch and said, "A sympathy letter." Lowly I scoffed. "Seems so pathetic really. I should let it burn in the fireplace."

My father seemed pleased by my lack of care. He saw through my lies, yet me modeling his behavior was enough for him. I took it to my advantage to escape. "I guess I should go." I cleared my throat and began to shuffle towards the door. "You as well. It must be hard, losing Sigrid and having no time to mourn."

" I do not mourn for a traitor," he muttered.

"Da!" I breathed.

He shook his head, whether by disagreement or for crossing him, I didn't know. But the fumes never succumbed him like I thought they would. He only said, "But she was. Your sister was in alliance was one of our enemies. I am no fool. I knew she was in league. She had sabotaged us. She was the reason our enemies are coming to our gates."

It was the first time enemies were spoken of. My father had kept many demons, along with secrets, inside, believing that's where they belonged. Now with him expressing them all, I was honored. Perhaps I had gained his trust. It seemed so ironic considering this conversation was building on lies, but I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the approval I had fought eight years for.

"It is why I will leave the kingdom to you, my daughter," he said, gently, while stroking fallen strands of hair from my braid. Meeting his eyes I begun to remenscies of a past Father had wanted me to forget. I saw a man of purity, save his life that was crumbling down, who was pressed by determination to do everything right. I saw a love I had lost. "You have proven your loyalty. I could not ask you for anything more."

Selfishly, I smiled. The forlorn reason to defend Sigrid didn't affect me then. His words fulfilled that empty void my guilt had created, allowing me to say without hesitation, "Thank you."

He nodded steadily as a faint smirk spread across his face.

"She was a beautiful women," I admitted.

"But weak," he was quick to reply.

I wanted to shake my head, to say something more in honor of my sister, but I found myself only agreeing. At the time it was all I could do. I was drunk on the pleasure of being enough. It blurred my sense, like gold blurred his.

It struck me sick to realize cast in front of me was a reflection of myself, now leaning in with his lips brushing across my head. I thought the gentle strokes against my loose trestles would alter the fear. And yet fear was the last of my problems.

"I should start back," he said as he reeled back, still with my hair slinking between his fingertips. "Thank you, my daughter." He shifted towards the door, leaving my mind to trail back to his words and that smile. Oh that manipulative smile.

"Da!" I called out as one foot reached the hall.

He turned back without delay. That smile lurked.

"It's not...It's not a sympathy letter." He slowly started towards me as I coward back. "I found this in her drawer, with a gold seal. I feared the worse."

"Tilda...give it to me," he said, sharply.

I met his eyes for a second time, but this time I saw a darkness that was festered and prospered in him. It was a demon that had spawned inside of him and rooted itself through his blood.

"Da...I," I breathed. His fingers coiled around my wrist into a firm grasp and drew me in. His free hand then wrapped around my back, wrestling with my own before retrieving the letter. My uncertainty is conquered by his sudden acquired strength that won him the letter.

His observant of it was quick and the widening of his eyes told me he recognized the stamp. Without an expression of gratitude, he left me with only the starting of regret.

Nightmares succumbed my sleep as I roused to find shadows still occupying my room.

Ever since Sigrid's death my slumber was feeble. My dreams had sullied. I awoke to sweat saturating my gown, with my heart tearing through, and my mind trailing back to them. My timid cries occasionally summoned my maid, who I was quick to shoo off, save one night. It was a silent obscurity when I found myself slinking out of bed, by pants and whimpers conquering the quiet. My demands were on a glass of water to content my dry throat, yet I sat without a response from my maid.

I murmured out curses through my cracked voice before scrambling to my feet. Yet to muster the energy to yell, I shuffled to the door and steadily peered out only for my eyes to betray me as they met the light. But my hearing was clear and reeling in the sounds of a deep pitch voice reflecting off the floors. My mind was too tired to let me deny it was Father's, even though I wanted to. I wanted to pass it off as a guard, waiting at his post for excitement, but with every growing hour becoming more fumed and now cursing his duties and the long night that stood in front of him.

I was drawn down the hall as my eyes adjusted to the light and words met me with every step.

"Look at me!" I heard him demand as I continued down the path his voice altered. "Look at me, for I am your king!" Father's voice hushes for a time but he continues to announce as I come to the end of the hall. "You have disappointed me beyond measures today. I knew you had betrayed me, I always knew."

Expecting the shaking voice of a citizen, I withdrew to realize it wasn't. Their voice was distantly familiar, and their words brought upon an ache that was just as familiar from this morning.

"You are also my father." pressed Bain. "...you are sick. You've become -."

"No," he begun, prior to a pause. "You are not my son. You are a traitor. A traitor to my kingdom!" He growled that was conquered by the sound of items clasping against the floor. I arrived by then with heavy feet to the throne room's side door. I could already hear Bain's shackles dinging against the stone. I didn't want to see it. I didn't want to see him cuffed and bound by iron, positioned in front of our father as the man we once trusted was babbling insults and stroking his ego. I didn't have to say the least. I could have crept back to my chambers and struggled to get back to sleep. I should have. But with my eyes drifting on the keyhole I lost my self - control and collapsed to my knees.

It wasn't the best sight, but enough. I could see Father towering over Bain, who was in search for a place to cower.

"Then I have no father," I hear my brother say, his voice clear and steady, as if he had held in those words for too long.

Father grew silent and oddly I was comforted by that and relieved by the sudden look of umbrage.

"If I am a traitor...and nothing else, punish me like a traitor," he continued, with his words steadily descending.

"You are just like her. All I have done for both of you has gone in vain. So I do not regret this," Father whispers. There is confidence in his tone, yet I feel a sharp rap of pain as he delivers his words. "I sentence you to execution, on the charges of conspiracy and treason against your king."

The once clinks of his shackles turned to a clash as two guards took to both his sides and wrapped their arms around his. His resistance was short lived where Father's miffed expression drew on. Even to watch a traitor of his own kin being ushered off to his death after an exchange of bitter words, he wasn't satisfied. A part of me believed his anger was a veil covering his dismay to know a son he once loved had betrayed him.

At that moment I didn't have to wonder, therefore I didn't have time to believe. My eyes were stuck on Father moving towards his throne, with an arch in his back and a slouch in his shoulders. He took his seat with a his chin to his chest, giving me nothing left to watch. I removed my eyes and scrambled back to feet with the sound of door slams dimming in my ear.

Ironically, I felt nothing. No fear. No sadness. No anger.

My sister, my only friend, was dead, my brother soon to join her in the oblivion and my father's mind had wandered into the shadows, yet my thoughts were on my bed. I had yet to decide if my lack of care came from my weariness or not wanting to try to fight it all. I had been so entitled until that night. I had grown lazy and lost all reason to do anything.

I knew Father would assemble all the citizen tomorrow morning and grant my brother an audience before his death. I had time to sneak out to the cells before dawn. Maybe steal the keys off a guard if I found the time. Thinking about how I would go about tomorrow I found myself at my doorway, half - expecting to find Father or my maid waiting for me.

Finding my room unoccupied I slink back underneath my covers, fluffed my pillows and drifted off into a feeble sleep that I was soon to be robbed of.

The bells from the town was roaring in my ears, as whispered from outside grew from the dark. My maid didn't give me time to rise for she was already running through the door in her pauper nightwear. "My lady, come now," she said, abandoning her usual gentle tone. "Get up."

"What for?" I asked, somewhat apprehensive besides goggily.

She heaved my coat from the rack before she answered. As she did her voice begun to crack. "The city, my lady, it's under attack."


End file.
